What’s a dosa got to do with Durga Puja?

Dosa by #kayteecooks. The coasters depicting the public transport of Kolkata is by Trina Mukherjee of Bag of Bong.

My first pujos were spent in the UK in the 1970s and you should read my mom’s blog post on the same. My first memories of Durga Puja are from Kolkata in the early 1980s. We had just moved into the city. Rented an apartment in Dhakuria as the house my dad had built in Sonarpur was too far for his practise. He was a bilet ferot (foreign returned) orthopaedic surgeon and was quite the talk of town. Our puja invites would be to the houses of top architects, sweet shop chain owners, etc. He would take people pandal hopping in our car. He was in the thick of things in the parar pujo. As if making up for the 14 years that he had spent abroad. He would sponsor events, take part in the dhunuchi naach in a crisp dhuti and panjabi, go to the bishorjon. As his son, I would bask in the buzz.

He passed away a couple of years later. My brother was a year and a half old. I had just crossed nine. Our mother was determined to raise us in a way where we felt that we did not miss out on anything. As we grew older, she would take us to Lindsay Street a couple of weekends before the pujas. Using savings from a meagre college professor’s salary and money gifted by maternal grandparents, uncle and aunts, to buy us Smash and Proline apparel from a shop called Kishanlal. There was a kind gentleman at the sales counter. He would pitch in and say the size was not available or something if he sensed that my mother felt that what we were asking was above her budget. She would not shop for herself. We would then go to Indra Mahal, have dosas, then take a private bus home. Cheaper than mini and the S buses.

We lived with our maternal grandparents for a year and then mom took an apartment for us close by. “That’s how the boys will grow up feeling independent,” said dadu. “We are there to support you.”

Within a year our building had a saraswati pujo and then, as more flats got occupied, a durga pujo. I grew up with that pujo. The 5 days of the pujo each year were the best days of my life as Bryan Adams would put it.

My mum was conscious of the fact that we wanted to go out and see the puja pandals. Some of the elder boys in the building (those in college) would go out in a group and would offer to take me. At times some of the kakus and kakimas would take some of the kids in their cars. Mom was not comfortable with either option. Being new to Kolkata the crowds intimidated her. So she would take my brother and me out on Saptami. The second day of the pujas. The pandals were ready but the crowds were yet to peak. We would go in the evening so that we could see the lights. We would take cycle rickshaws, private buses, mini buses, state buses, autos and at times just walk. She would choose the pujas around Deshopriya Park which would be less crowded and which she felt were safer. We would see a couple of pandals. Stop at a local restaurant. Have a dosa each. Share a plate of vadas. Since it was the pujos, my brother and I would get the option of having an ice cream or a cold drink. This tradition continued till I was in college.

I remembered all of that this morning in Mumbai when our new morning cook, Kalpana Tai AKA #KayteeCooks, brought me a plate of freshly made dosas and piping hot sambar, and to which I sat down along with a cup of Colombian espresso.

Did your breakfast talk to you today?

PS: It is saptami today and I just got a message from my brother with a happy picture of my sister in law, niece, mum and him at a Chinese restaurant for lunch at Gurugram today. That felt lovely.

A post I had written when our building pujo turned 25 in 2010.

My mother, Rekha Karmakar, on Durga Puja in London in the 1970s.

Nimki wants to go pandal hopping.